Unhappily Ever After
by Tanzen Sie Mit
Summary: He obliged Cinderella to sit down, and, putting the slipper to her little foot, he found it went on very easily, and fitted her as if it had been made of wax.'        Charles Perrault
1. Chapter 1

**Comments**: Being a native to Alabama and currently living in Tennessee, I have not been afforded the opportunity to travel to the Cap. city and venture out into the state for exploring. So, this means that anything I write in this about Parks, Clubs, etc, I've had to research because I do not have a CLUE what any of these places look like, the traffic, the living situations. It's all guess work and Google for me.

**Dedicated**: Janie for the wonderful challenge that sparked this idea and to Barb the ever wonderful Beta! Hope it doesn't disappoint.

**Disclaimer**: All material inherently not created by the author is sole property to those that own the rights. All rights reserved. This will be the **only** place the disclaimer appears in this story - lawyers and sticklers, please make a note of this.

  
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**Chapter One: Stage**  
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Tony DiNozzo liked to think of himself as a 'Man of Taste' when it came to the finer things in life. Women, wine, food, and clothing; all these he figured he had a handle on. He'd been surrounded with a combination of the four since he was a boy. His mother wore only the finest of clothing from places like Paris, Prague, Italy; places he'd never been, but dreamed when his mother's arms wrapped around him in a loose hug, whispering those empty platitudes of love and affection. Cigars from Cuba and the best damned Scotch money could buy were what he associated most with his father. There was always a box of expensive-cut stogies lined all in a row at the corner of the dark mahogany desk, but a Nicaragua cut burning in the ashtray - His father liked the best of the best, but smoked _better_. And the Scotch. How could he forget the pungent amber liquid glittering in a crystal glass always curled in DiNozzo Senior's hand?

Glittering amber and beautiful women, and it made him think of home. It actually made him nostalgic, those bloodstained shoes he was bending over with camera in hand. Rose-gilded and seemed to mold perfectly to every contour of the petite size six. Perfectly painted toes in pale pink peeked from the open-toes, not a chip or crack. If it weren't for the blood sluggishly trickling through the holes, Tony would have entertained a mid-day fantasy of those beautifully pale extremities arching between his hands. He never was one for blood sports.

"DiNozzo!" The sound was muffled by distance but it didn't take full force stereo to know that frustrated growl. Tony shook himself and straightened, turning his head to the left to watch Gibbs stride purposefully towards him. If he hadn't have worked with the man these last three years, the ex-cop might have been frightened by the stark anger swimming behind the blue-ice glare. He was just happy that it wasn't actually directed at him.

"Finishing up the photos now, Boss," he snapped out quickly. It was mostly true. He'd gotten half a dozen photos of the woman's hands alone. The rest of her got equal treatment from all angles, and then he'd started on close-ups to be thorough. He didn't want to miss anything. "McGee's got the sketches and Kate's interviewing the witness that found the body."

Senior Field Agent or not, he wasn't about to waste Gibbs' time with unnecessary information when he didn't really have anything to report other than the obvious. The scene was eerily familiar to the one they worked two weeks ago at Randall Playground; now this one, here at Folger Park. "The perp likes the outdoors."

The hand was swift and firm, grazing the back of DiNozzo's head and knocking the black NCIS hat up an inch with the force. "You got anything to support that theory of yours, DiNozzo, or are you just flapping your jowls because you're bored? Are you bored?"

"No, Boss!"

"Then you got something to tell me?" Gibbs barked, coming to stand to the side of the corpse dangling perversely from one of the oaks that littered the landscape around the park. He didn't wait for an answer. "You finish taking those pictures, then you and McGee walk the perimeter, and one of you track a Ranger down and find out how the **hell** this girl could have gotten trussed up without anyone hearing or seeing **anything**."

Tony didn't need to be told twice. Another round of pictures and he was off like a flash to collect McGee with a barely restrained yell of "Probie", passing Ducky and Palmer without more than a nod of acknowledgement as they headed toward the scene. Dr. Mallard took a moment to watch the hasty retreat before turning back on course. Jimmy was two steps ahead and beginning to draw out the necessary instruments, laying them on a clear sheet of plastic that was produced from the large case he carried with him, a foot from the right side base of the tree.

"Oh dear, you poor girl," a quiet exclamation sounded in soft British tones. "Mr. Palmer, let us work quickly, but concisely, so we may get this young soul back home and off display, yes?"

"Of course, Dr. Mallard."

"Jethro, I'm afraid I can already see similarities to the unfortunate young woman we pulled from the fence out at Randall," he shared an expressive grimace with his friend before taking up the offered thermometer from his assistant. "Both in costume, elaborate makeup, and clearly out of place. Yet they seem to _fit_ into the scene if one suspends the logical side of one's brain. Not to mention the ritualistic manner in which they have both been - for lack of a better phrase - left on display."

He didn't want to hear that; didn't need to. He knew. It looked like the same M.O., even if the two victims didn't look a thing alike. Gibbs didn't need Kate to tell him that the profile she worked up, though probably accurate to a point, just changed dramatically. There was no foolproof format on mapping a killer's patterns, but most serials targeted a certain type. The first girl was white, tall with long blonde curls, and bright blue eyes. This one was shorter than the first, brunette, and definitely of an ethnic decent. They both, however, were killed in near ritualistic fashion - eyes missing, mouth slashed on either side to give them both a Cheshire grin, hands and ankles bound in duck tape and staked through with railroad ties - and both left in out doors in public places. All these things he knew. What he didn't know was what the hell any of it had to do with the victims themselves, or the motivation the perp had for doing any of this.

Jethro blew out a frustrated breath, watching the medical examiner extract the thermometer. "T.O.D?"

"Given the relative temperature, lividity, and the elevated position in which our young victim has been left, Jethro, I would estimate between eight to ten hours." The elder physician straightened with a half groan and handed the contaminated instrument back to his assistant. "And before you ask, No. I do not know, exactly, what killed her. Though, from the bleeding around the eyes and mouth, I do believe she was alive when those injuries were inflicted, but it doesn't appear to be the case for when she was, for lack of a better word, mounted on the tree. Neither wound appears to have bled excessively, which would indicate that she was dead before being placed on display. But really, Jethro, I won't know for sure until we get her back home and I've a chance to examine her properly."

"Any ID?" It was a tentative question; hopeful.

"Mr. Palmer, if you would please check inside the lady's side bag?" No sooner were the words out of the ME's mouth, than his young assistant was handing him a small card that he'd fished out as instructed. "Ah, yes, thank you Mr. Palmer. Hmm, I'm sorry Jethro, but it seems that there is significant damage to the photograph on this ID. I'm afraid it will have to be left up to Abby." Ducky turned back towards Jimmy, who had an evidence bag already open and waiting, and dropped the mangled piece of plastic into the waiting bag.

"Thanks, Duck. If you find anything else, let me know."

"Yes, yes. I always do, my friend." They shared a sad, weary smile, and then parted ways. Dr. Mallard returned his attention to the woman to direct the extraction of the spikes and transport of the body back to his van. Gibbs veritably spun on heel to track down the local LEOs that were called in. He doubted they had anything else to offer than what they'd already provided, but that had been over the phone. There was nothing like a little face-to-face motivation to help jog a memory.

"There's only so much a man can take before he explodes, Probie." The statement was quiet, almost whispered, while he walked alongside the slightly husky agent. If he hadn't been studying the ground around the marked perimeter, Tim might actually have thought something was wrong.

"Gibbs is just frustrated. We all are, Tony."

"You don't have to remind me, McGee." It came out heated and worn around the edges. Frustration lent the ill humor, but there was enough faint camaraderie lingering in the inflection to dull the sting. Yeah, they were all anxious, tired, and half a dozen other things that slowly ate at them from the inside out. "Two weeks and no leads, suspects that all have alibis, and a new body."

A subtle shift and an evidence marker were placed around a discarded soda can. The movements of an investigation were muted and felt a little meaningless. It wasn't, of course, but this crime scene, this new body, was an aching reminder that they had gotten nowhere; that they were too late.

"Hey McGee, did you ever watch the movie _Kiss the Girls_?"

"Yes. And no I don't want to hear your comparisons of this crime scene to the one in the movie. They're not the same, just some parts are similar." Tim winced at the whine he could clearly hear in his voice. Tony didn't deserve that. He just didn't want the senior agent to make light of what they were doing, even if it would have made him feel better. Tim knew he couldn't afford to worry about his own comfort when there was a killer out there. He didn't want to think about another victim.

A carefully sculpted eyebrow rose fractionally. "They're both outdoor crime scenes, the vics are both left to the elements, and both happen to be bound to a tree."

"And we're walking the perimeter trying to find some shred of evidence that might help us identify the killer. Tony, I hate to break it to you, but Morgan Freeman didn't have any better luck with that crime scene then we are with this one."

"Oh I don't know about that, Probie." Two quick flashes then a third. "I think we've got us a clue."

McGee came to attention; all pretense of joking slid away and left him with a pinched look of anxious enthusiasm. Tony couldn't - wouldn't - blame him for that, since he wore an almost identical look. Quickly he pulled the pad open to a fresh page and began to draw quick, efficient lines that soon started to take the shape of a small envelope with a broken wax seal the color of dried blood, while DiNozzo moved around him to search for more evidence.

"Boss! I think we've got something!"

The ex-Marine moved quickly across the short distance, coming to rest at the youngest field agent's shoulder as he bent low to capture the details on and around the envelope. Blue eyes scanned and registered the evidence both his agents hovered around. He noted DiNozzo had moved off and looked to the side, watching his progress for a moment. The Senior was walking a circular path five feet by five feet around them; the dark envelope the epicenter.

Gibbs turned his attention back to McGee. "You through?" When Tim nodded, Jethro crouched down and carefully took up the envelope. Turning it over in his hands he studied it. It wasn't really remarkable. Seemed to be just another run of the mill envelope to him except that it was black and - he'd tipped it gently to the side to look underneath the hanging flap - didn't appear to have any adhesive. The wax was what held it closed. The crimson residue clung to both sections; the clump of wax on the tip fitting perfectly into the mold left on the envelope below.

It wasn't much but it was more than they had.

"Bag it."


	2. Chapter 2

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**Chapter 2: Steps **

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The similarities between the two women in appearance were virtually nil, apart from ravaged state of their corpses. The depravity visited upon the delicate and supple flesh roiled and gave rise to the acidic juices in more than one stomach. Beautiful, blessed, young life had been snuffed out far too early. The joys of being alive, to be living, were wrestled savagely away and left a bleak and barren reminder that evil visited and took grand pleasures in rendering even the most virile to waste.

Ducky took a moment to himself as he slipped on the green length of cloth of the apron - the means of protection from the _hazards_ of blood, bile, and other bodily fluids and fillings a human's body could offer up during his examinations - to breath deeply, letting the air fill his lungs to capacity. Many would believe that the quiet exhalation was cleansing, but to the elder Medical examiner there was nothing cleansing in the action. It was a reminder of the heavy burden he must bear in effort to find answers; the answers that would hopefully help.

Another breath, and he tied the strings deftly; his armor in tact. With usual grace and energy, Donald pushed himself from the confines of the staging area and quickly crossed the short distance to the stainless steel sinks, to soap and disinfect, making short work of both, and soon his hands were gloved.

"There we are my dear," he breathed out, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Knowledgeable hands gently worked along the delicate features of the woman's face. Tactile identification and logging, those fingers swept over skin making note of everything in their wake. "I am quite sorry that we would have to meet under such intolerable circumstances, but fear not. I shall be nothing if not respectful during our contact."

"Did you know that brown is considered the most dominate eye color in the world?" He peered into the hollow sockets and gave the corpse another, broader smile, while the tips of his fingers worked their way into the abyss. "Yes, brown is quite predominant, and in many communities dotting around the world, it is the among the _only_ color seen." Carefully, he withdrew the exploring digits. "I can only guess, at this early stage, of your heritage, but I dare to believe you had the most beautiful brown eyes; perfectly attune to your pleasant features."

The Autopsy door's gentle '_swoosh_' drew his attention for the briefest of moments; his young assistant had returned, bearing the record of Abigail's signature that preserved the chain of evidence. Momentarily, he felt a paternal pang of regret for the dear boy. Though he'd remained an utmost professional at the crime scene, the Scotsman had noted that the man had been unusually silent, almost withdrawn, during their return. Jimmy was such a gentle soul, with wit and spirit that immediately lent the elder examiner to accept him far more readily than at first even Ducky was willing to admit. But the boy was quite capable and had proven himself to be competent and worth the extra time spent nurturing his abilities. It hadn't been easy to _replace_ Gerald, but Dr. Mallard knew he'd made the right decision to keep this youngster by his side.

"Abby seemed quite excited about the costume. Said something about all the jewelry being excellent places for finger prints and fluids." Jimmy, already in scrubs and quickly tucking himself into an apron, turned toward the sinks and smiled shyly at his mentor. "I hope she's right, but it's hard to imagine since there was very **little** of anything there in the costume itself."

Ducky spared a fond smile toward the ceiling in silent reference to their resident forensic specialist that was no doubt bouncing about the confines of her _domain_, pigtails and lab coat dancing about as she moved, her radio set at a decibel level that just barely remained below screeching, as she processed the evidence she'd received. "Well let us hope, Mr. Palmer, that the size of the outfit in question does yield something up to our dear Abigail, no matter how little of it there actually was."

"Of course, Doctor."

There was no telltale color creeping up the cream neck or staining his assistant's cheeks, Ducky noticed, nor had the young man dipped his head in embarrassment. He was doing much better with the gentle reprimands, respites, and general teasing lately. It heartened the seasoned medical examiner. Not one to dwell, he immediately turned his full attention back to conducting the preliminary, knowing full well that it was best to finish these things quickly so he could start on the autopsy itself. However, he never rushed. But goodness knew that Jethro would be along soon.

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Evidence, photographed and carefully bagged, filled most of the rear compartment of the NCIS van; the youngest member of Gibbs' team sitting back with it. Luckily, the ex-marine wasn't behind the wheel, so there wasn't any cause for alarm at the safety of McGee nor the evidence shifting unduly because of the excessive speeds Gibbs chose to drive at, not to mention the _chances_ he took on the road. Tony was in the driver's seat and kept them moving at just barely over the normal speed limit.

No one spoke during the drive back to base, the cabin unusually somber, no doubt due to the last three hours of meticulously scouring nearly the entire park for evidence; the endless frustration and nearly fruitless interviewing of Rangers and residents alike, and the overall sense of failure that seemed to drift between the investigators. After all, this was the second body - the killer was still out there, and would most likely give them another body if they didn't move quickly.

The large metal door ground shut behind the van as it was pulled into the evidence garage, three agents poured out of the front, and one from the rear. The van's passenger-side door slammed shut with an audible 'THWACK'.

"McGee, DiNozzo! I want everything we have taken up to Abby; have her process it A-SAP. Top priority - paying particular attention to that wax. I want to know something by the time I get out of Autopsy. Kate, pull up the file on the first victim and start comparing and compiling. I also want you to start calling every costume and consignment shop in the area and track down that damned outfit our vic was wearing!"

"Uhh. . . Boss?" A hesitant voice called out from behind one of the back doors of the vehicle. "I'm not su. . ."

The ex-Gunny turned away from the door and glared at the round-faced agent through narrowed eyes. "I didn't ask for your input McGee. Do as you're told!" Gibbs spun around and stalked towards the elevator, pausing only briefly after his retina was scanned to toss a last order over his shoulder. "And if you're not **_sure_** then I suggest you **get** sure, quickly." The elevator doors closed cutting off any response the three agents may have tossed his way.

He wanted to reach over and slam his fist into the shining doors, but that'd get him nothing but a hurt hand. Silver met silver as Gibbs leaned wearily against the back of the elevator after pressing the button for Autopsy. Damn, if things hadn't gotten worse. He took a deep breath and straightened before doors opened, schooling his features before making his way into the morgue.

Ducky looked up briefly from the incision to acknowledge the ex-marine's entry. "Ah, there you are Jethro. I was wondering when you would return from the scene." The cut finished, he replaced the scalpel to the tray, and then pulled back the upper flap before opening the remaining two to the side. "Did you find anything useful?"

"Not much Duck; hoping you've got something for me. How'd our vic die?"

"Well I haven't finished the autopsy Jethro, as you can clearly see. But, I am hoping to support a theory I have." The medical examiner leaned back just enough to give the man a clear view inside the woman's chest cavity.

"And that would be what exactly?"

"I do believe our young Ensign died from shock. There wasn't enough blood around the orbits to indicate that she bled out, since I've noted that all other wounds on her body happened postmortem. Gravity, my dear friend, did the rest, to give us a nice blood pool just below her hanging form." Jimmy stood next to the Doctor and offered him a pair of bone cutters. "Thank you, Mr. Palmer."

Jethro allowed a half smile to form on his lips. "Ensign Duck? You got me an ID while I was out?"

A delighted gleam of self-satisfaction sparkled behind the elder man's glasses before being quashed to mere amusement. "Well, it was actually our dear Abigail that managed that feat, Jethro, but essentially yes." Snip-crack. Snip-crack. Snip-crack. Ducky paused in his task to lean towards the dead woman's face, smiling. "I'm pleased, under the circumstances, to introduce you to a good friend of mine, my dear. Special Agent Gibbs, I would like you to meet Ensign Margaret Louise McNandy."

"McNandy, huh?" The Gunny took a moment to study the lifeless features, only to frown. "Doesn't seem Irish to me."

That startled a chuckle from his friend. "Well, Heaven's no, I should think not. No, I do believe our young Ensign is of an Arabic descent. Abby will have more information for you, I'm sure. But if I were to guess I'd say she might . . ." The distinctive _whoosh_ broke his concentration, but only for a moment, "be adopted." He shook his head and returned to task. "Do forgive Jethro, my dear; he's usually a rather genial fellow, once you've gotten to know him better."

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'_In the Sea beyond us. In the city below.'_

_'How much farther must I guide you, before you let me go?_'

Lyrics wafted from the Bose radio nestled in the inner sanctum of the laboratory, loud and jarring to anyone but those who liked the Industrial side of labeled gothic music. The chords today, however, weren't nearly as hard hitting as some of her usual musical choices. Definitely a heavy beat with grounding lyrics, but they were both mingled and delivered in an easier fashion than many of her other CD favorites stashed beside the radio.

Abby, herself, was swaying her hips in time with the beat and mouthing along with the words while she worked her forensic magic on the little faux gems and gold - they made up the glittering faucets of a scant costume that had been worn by the woman Ducky was currently working on.

Gibbs ignored the woman at work, and crossed the distance between the door to the radio and immediately silenced the blaring chords of Ego Likeness; a band he had no clue about. He could never understand how she could listen to that stuff, but he never really called her on it. She was damn good at her job and not once had she ever let him down, so he let her have her music; . .but not while he was in the lab. That's where he drew the line.

"Gibbs!" Abby spun on her three inch soles, pigtails flying on either side of her head. "That was the **BEST** part!"

He offered her an unapologetic smirk and shook his head, "Don't care Abs. What'cha got for me?"

She met the smirk with an impish grin of her own and wriggled in place. Gibbs had done wrong but she forgave easily, though as her eyes scanned his empty hands she thought better of it. "Considering Timmy just brought me three boxes of stuff to go through only a little while ago; not much." Abby moved from the small table where a few items of evidence, including the costume top she'd been working on, took up residence and headed towards her idle computer, pressing a few quick buttons to bring up what she did have.

A picture of a polished and pristine young woman in Navy Dress Blues and white cover, she wore a serious expression that seemed to accentuate her doe-like eyes, a deep brown, and soft full lips. She was definitely not Irish.

"That is Margaret Louise McNandy; twenty-two year old Electronics Technician assigned to the USS Kersarge. She earned an Associates degree in Computer Sciences from DeVry University at the tender age of Eighteen, and then went to Georgetown as an undergraduate where she graduated magnum cum laude with a Bachelor's in the same field." There was true appreciation and admiration in Abby's voice as she read the stats from McNandy's records. "She was one smart cookie. After she got her Bachelor's she immediately enlisted in the Navy. Not an impressive military career, but she worked hard and managed to get herself assigned to the Kersarge two months after training."

"Good work, Abs. Send that up to McGee along with any other records you pulled on her. Now, you got anything else?"

The pert tech balled her fists and placed them on either of her hips. She sighed and shook her head, "No. I've got to finish swabbing all, well, **everything**, and then get my mass-spec running to try and determine what some of the other stains I found on a few of the fake stones were, as well as work on identifying and placing about a dozen samples taken from the shoes McGee brought me. That, and I need to pull up the files from the other case and see if anything meshes."

The Agent wasn't happy but knew he couldn't expect much after such a short period of time. He was grateful for what she did manage to dig up on the victim, and would just have to be patient; though patience was not one of his strongest virtues. Gibbs nodded once, dropped a kiss on Abby's pale cheek, and headed for the door. "Call me when you've got something."


End file.
